


The River of Empty Tears

by teaandjam



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandjam/pseuds/teaandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has never cried before in his lifetime, but he's not sure what will happen when he comes back to 221B after 8 months...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The River of Empty Tears

Sherlock had never cried in his lifetime. Sure, when the kids at school had called him a freak, he came close, but never once had a single tear graced Sherlock's elegant cheekbones. But being away from John, he knew it was going to happen. At least he knew what was going on, but he still felt as if there was a John-shaped hole in his heart that nothing else was going to fill. He got updates from Molly and Mycroft, and had Irene Adler pop in on him once and awhile to keep him company, but nothing was the same. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that once he had dismantled Moriarty’s crime web, he would be reunited with his John. His John? Sherlock thought, where did that come from? He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he knew that he, as awful as it sounds, would kill anyone stopping him from finding his way back to 221B Baker Street. He just didn’t know what he was going to do once he got there, and more importantly, what John was going to do.

It had been 8 months since John had watched Sherlock jump off the roof of St. Bart’s. He could barely remember what happened during daylight hours (it was all just a blur of emotions) but that moment always came back to haunt him during the night, when he was venerable and alone. He had dreams 3 times a week at the least, and always woke up in a cold sweat and screaming Sherlock’s name. He had thought about turning to drinking or drugs to forget, but something stopped him every time. A little nagging voice in his head that whispered “What would Sherlock say?” and John would think Why does it matter? He’s dead. But he never drank anyways. Everyone was very supportive of John, Lestrade letting him come to cases, Molly talking to him and keeping him company, Mycroft paying his rent, but it all just made it hurt more. Lestrade’s cases just reminded John of Sherlock and all of his bloody deductions, Molly was great for a chat about anything but Sherlock, which she brought up almost every time they were together (she didn’t seem as sad as John thought she would, she just seemed worried about John’s thoughts of Sherlock) and he knew Mycroft wouldn’t pay for the rent if he wasn’t at 221B, and he didn’t have enough to pay for himself so he stayed – but the pain was unbearable.

I’m done, and I’m coming back to London. –SH

Mycroft received this text at 5:37 PM, and automatically called his little brother.

“Hello brother dear” Sherlock smirked, knowing Mycroft would be able to hear it in his voice, even over the phone.

“What the hell are you talking about Sherlock? You said you still had months to go!”

“I have a-” Sherlock paused, scanning his brain for the right term to use, “-new drive. I need to go back to Baker Street now. I need to see John.”

“John is not ready Sherlock. He’s still fragile! You wounded him far beyond anything you would have thought… Who knows what will happe-”

“I’m not going to pretend I know” Sherlock cut him off quickly “but I’m not going to give up the chance to find out” Sherlock smiled and hung up the phone.

Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh. Sherlock always did have to have the last word didn’t he? Mycroft of all people knew this, and he also knew that once Sherlock had set his mind on something, there was no going back. So without further persuasion otherwise, he let his little brother walk up the steps to 221B Baker Street, like he had done so many times before, and plant 3 cool, hard knocks on the door.

John, prior to this, had not been doing well. It was almost 7:00 when the sun started to go down, and Sherlock crept back into John’s mind. He walked into Sherlock’s room for the first time in eight months. He had been avoiding it because of the over-increasing flow of memories which he fought with so hard in his mind and constantly pushed away. But tonight, he welcomed them. The flow of thoughts and emotions – from memories of cases to just wondering about the flat. John lay down on Sherlock’s bed. It still smelled of him, that musky smell of coffee (black, 2 sugars) and blood, and John wouldn’t have it any other way. He strolled to Sherlock’s closet and put on Sherlock’s favourite purple button up shirt and went back to Sherlock’s bed. He wept for an hour straight before he heard three knocks on his door.

John wondered who could be at the door at this time of night. Sure, it was only 8:00, but no one ever knocked on his door since, well, the fall. Everyone knew to stay away from him, because everyone assumed he would be the next one to jump off a building rooftop. John thought all these things, but still went to go open the door.

Sherlock was somewhat expecting the blow to the face. He thought he heard a crunch in his nose as John’s fist hit Sherlock’s face but he brushed off the immense amount of pain because there standing in front of him, was his oldest friend. His blogger.

“John” Sherlock whispered under his breath.

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!?” screamed John, with such a red face and an angry expression that made Sherlock want to shrivel up into a ball. “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU AFTER EIGHT MONTHS? EIGHT MONTHS!”

“John, I-“ Sherlock started, but John abruptly cut him off.

“I HAVE LIVED IN THIS HELL HOLE BELIEVING YOU WERE DEAD. DEAD!”

“John I’m sorry it-“

“You’re sorry? YOU’RE SORRY? SORRY ISN’T GOING TO CUT IT SHERLOCK. YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME FOR EIGHT MONTHS AND PRANCE BACK IN HERE EXPECTING EVERYTHING TO BE EXACTLY HOW IT WAS.”

“John I know-“

“Piss off Sherlock”

Sherlock was stunned. He couldn’t comprehend what was going on. I should have listened to Mycroft Sherlock though, but quickly pushed aside the thought.

“What did you just say?”

“I SAID PISS OFF. GO AWAY.”

Sherlock was awestruck. He thought back to the first cab ride he and John had shared, and how Sherlock had admitted that John was the only person that had never told Sherlock to piss off before. And now, here John was, spitting those very words into Sherlock’s blood-spattered face. And with that, Sherlock turned around, and briskly walked away, as his very first tear streaked down his face.  
~~~  
John slammed the door and took a moment to recover after what just happened. And a moment, of course, meaning 20 minutes. Sherlock was alive. After all this time, all this waiting, all this longing, it was like waking up from a dream. And what had he done? Punched him, cursed at him, and turned him away. It all happened so damn fast, and he was now regretting it so much that it felt like his heart had been torn from his chest and stomped on several times. But the look on Sherlock’s face had said it all. It said I’m sorry, I missed you, it was for your own good but John had been too emotional to deal with it. Sherlock looked as if he was going to cry… But Sherlock has never cried in his life he thought, but John also then realized what he said, and remembered back to their first taxi ride. He had fucked everything up once more. John buried his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

I’m ready to talk. Please come back to the flat –JW

Sherlock wasn’t surprised to see this text, but smiled the widest and silliest grin he had ever smiled in his life. He had been wondering aimlessly around London trying to think of what he would say when he saw John again, but all he could think of were John’s eyes. They were plain; sure, not a very interesting shade of brown, but it was the emotion that was portrayed through them that had Sherlock in a daze. His happy eyes that smiled at him when they rushed up to a crime scene, or his sad eyes when he saw a dead body or a sick patient, even the pleading eyes like when he was on the rooftop. But now those wonderful eyes had an emotion that he had never seen before. His eyes had conveyed a furious emotion, like he wanted to explode into a million pieces and never see Sherlock again. It was those eyes that had caused Sherlock’s first tear. But now he was here, calm and ready, and so Sherlock sprinted back to the flat and planted three more cold, hard knocks on the door.

“Oh my god, Sherlock your nose!” John exclaimed, a worried expression plastered onto his face. 

Sherlock remembered his bleeding nose that John had gave him, but decided to brush off the excruciating pain.

“John I’m fine, may I come in?”

“Sure,” John stammered. “Take a seat.”

John sat Sherlock down in his chair, cleaned the blood from off his face, and gave him an ice pack to apply to his nose.

“I need an explanation, Sherlock.” John said sternly, “And I would like it now.”

When Sherlock first walked into the flat, his had heart sunk immediately. Sherlock’s stuff was scattered everywhere. From science equipment (which John ended up persuading Mrs. Hudson not to send to a school) and his tea mug on the side-table. It looked as if he’d never left. He looked at John, really looked this time, and started deducing. He could tell that he had lost over 10 pounds in the last 8 months from the bagginess of his pants, there were permanent bags under his eyes from a lacking amount of sleep. His hair was dirty and smelled as though he hadn’t taken a shower in weeks, and then there was the shirt he was wearing. Sherlock had to delete half of his mind palace to make room for what he saw John wearing on his chest. It was Sherlock’s favourite shirt; the one John had said made him look like an eggplant when he first wore it – but that made it his favourite shirt. And now John was wearing it. A sudden pain went through his chest, and he freaked out for a moment because he did not know what was going on, but the pang subsided, so he carried on.

“Ok John” Sherlock said, “You might want to sit down for this…” And Sherlock started speaking…

“I realized what was going to happen after we ran into ‘Richard Brook’ and that was why I blew you off. I knew that Moriarty was going to make me commit suicide. I didn’t know how, but I had to stay ahead of Moriarty, so I went to Molly. I asked her to help me fake-“

“MOLLY KNEW? ALL THIS TIME?” That would explain her not being sad thought John.

“Yes. So did Mycroft. I feel awful for making all these people lie to you for so long, but you need to understand that it was all necessary. I had to distract you somehow so I could get up to the roof, so I got Molly to get someone to call you and say that Mrs. Hudson had been shot. After that, I went up to the roof to meet Moriarty. I tried John, I really tried to make it so I didn’t need to jump, but he had three snipers pointing guns at you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson’s heads. My only three friends, he had said, but here was only one person on my mind that day. I tried to get him to tell me the call off code for the snipers, but he killed himself before I could get it out of him. So I had to… ” Sherlock gulped. He felt as if he couldn’t speak, like his vocal chords had decided to stop working.

“But Sherlock, how did you possibly survive?” John couldn’t breathe – too many emotions and thoughts running through his head. He had been waiting for this moment for eight entire months, and finally it had arrived.

“I got you to position yourself in a spot where you couldn’t see the pavement in front of St. Bart’s. I needed you to stay where you were because if you had moved the slightest inch to the left, you would’ve seen me land on a laundry truck instead of on cold, hard pavement. Molly helped me with the next bit. She gradually drew blood from me on the days leading up to the fall, and ran up to me and threw and smudged it on my face. I got in contact with the homeless network to get a guy to hit you on his bike so I had more time. All the doctors and the spectators were in on it too-“

“But I took your pulse! Your heart wasn’t beating!” John spluttered. Could this be a hallucination? John thought. Had it really gotten this bad?

“Remember the rubber blue ball I was playing with earlier that day? I hid it under my armpit to block the artery in which you took my pulse…”

Then John noticed something that he hadn’t about Sherlock when he first came into the flat, because he was so wrapped up in what he was saying. On his right cheek, was a single tear, barely visible on his pale soft skin. That’s impossible John thought. Sherlock’s never cried in his life!

“Sherlock…” he said tentatively.

“Yes John?”

“Is that a tear on your cheek?”

Sherlock was surprised. “Yes John. It was, uh, after you told me to piss off. It’s just, well; you had been the only person I’ve ever known not to say that to me. You were the only person who thought I was brilliant, amazing, fascinating, and not just a plain old pain in the arse. You were different, and it was so difficult being away from you for this long. But I had to keep going. I had to dismantle Moriarty’s crime web so you could be safe. So you, we, could be happy. But now, after what you said, I understand if you want me completely out of your life. I did an awful thing to you, and I am the most sorry I have ever been in my entire life for causing this much pain to you. I hope you will be able to eventually forgive me, because I would not know how to live the rest of my life without you by my side”

John kneeled in front of Sherlock’s chair and put a hand to his cheek to wipe away the tear, and grinned as wide as he could.

“Oh Sherlock, you ARE brilliant amazing and fascinating. I am so so so sorry that I told you that and sent you away, and I immediately regretted it after. You, Sherlock Holmes, are the best man I’ve ever met, and I don’t want to have to live another day without you.”

And Sherlock felt a pair of lips press gently into his own.  
~~~  
Sherlock was shocked when John leant in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. He almost groaned he had missed John so much, and now he was here. He was finally kissing the man he had loved since their first case.

John didn’t know what came over him; all he knew was that this was right. This is what he had been waiting for for eight months, longing for. He took in all of Sherlock; his musky smell, is angular body, John’s hand still on that beautiful cheekbone, with the other running through his glorious black mane of curls. John could not believe how long it took him to realize that he had loved Sherlock, with all of his heart.

Sherlock pulled away. “John, I love you” Sherlock said with another tear rolling down his cheek, but this time it was a tear of pure joy.

“Oh Sherlock don’t cry, I love you too” John said laughing before he kissed Sherlock again.  
The kiss was passionate, and lasted a very long time – at least for Sherlock. He could pull John close to him fast enough. He had been deprived of John for much too long, and all he wanted in this moment was John’s lips kissing away his tears of happiness.

Finally John pulled away and said, “Sherlock, you might want to talk to Mrs. Hudson before she walks in on us snogging…”

“Ah yes of course. People might start to talk!” Sherlock said teased. He winked at John and just before he left the room, he breathed a last “I love you” to John before he left.

John waited 2 minutes before realizing that he couldn’t be without Sherlock any longer. “Screw it” John muttered under his breathe. “WAIT UP SHERLOCK!”

John caught up to Sherlock and grabbed his sleeve. “I want to come with you” he said with a giant grin.

Sherlock grinned back; John had done exactly what he had hoped he would. They walked down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat at the bottom of all those stairs holding hands – and it felt right. Sherlock had never felt so at home holding John’s hand, and from what he deduced, John felt the same way. And together, they opened the door.

John walked in first. “Evening Mrs. Hudson”

“Ah what a pleasant surprise John!” Mrs. Hudson said with her usual cheerful and caring tone of voice, “Why, you look so happy! The happiest I’ve ever seen you since-“ She broke off, her voice faltering a little bit. “Ah well, never mind. All that matters is that you’re happy. Fancy a cup of tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you” John said smirking. “Can I bring my friend in?”

“Of course! Who is it? Have I met the bloke?”

Sherlock stepped into the room, and with a huge smile, said “Nice to see you Mrs. Hudson.”

And with that, Mrs. Hudson fainted.  
~~~  
When Mrs. Hudson regained consciousness, she began to cry and cling onto Sherlock. Sherlock felt as though his heart had wings and was soaring through the open sky like an eagle. The three of them laughed, cried, and chatted over numerous cups of tea provided by Mrs. Hudson. When the told her about their newly found relationship, she was super happy for them and they group hugged for the 17th time. But eventually it got late, and they had to go, so they headed back to the flat.

"Well, uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow..." Stammered Sherlock. He didn't want to leave John, but the last thing he wanted to do was to scare John and make him feel uncomfortable, so he backed off.

"Oh no you don't..." Said John, "I have lived eight months without you by my side and were not parting now." And John dragged him into his room.

Sherlock was ecstatic that John had said that, and didn't even care that he didn't have pajamas to wear. 

“John, I don’t have anything to wear...” whispered Sherlock.

“Oh, just strip into your underwear and t-shirt, and I’ll do the same.” said John. And so they did. But then Sherlock noticed something...

“John your pants...”

“Yes what about them?”

“They are the most beautiful shade of red I have ever seen... Like blood at a crime scene!” 

“Yes thats what I thought of! You like them?”

Sherlock laughed for this first time in eight months. “John” he said, “I absolutely love them”

John started laughing as well. They both rolled on the floor and John laughed so hard he started crying. After their stomachs started to hurt from all that laughing, they both settled down and cuddled on the bed (John's head lying on Sherlock's chest), and for a while, everything was right. They even dozed off for a bit, which was surprising especially for Sherlock, who hadn't slept in weeks, but that's when it started again.

"No Sherlock, what are you doing? Sherlock no!" John murmured, still sleeping. The noise had awoken Sherlock, but the consulting detective didn't realize what was going on until John started screaming.

"SHERLOCK NO! SHERLOCK NO I CAN'T LOSE YOU! SHERLOCK I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON'T BE DEAD! Oh god no, Jesus, no... SHERLOCK" John yelled at the top of his lungs, the nightmare getting more and more intense by the second. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He hasn't realized how much damaged he had caused his best friend. Sherlock simply brought his lanky arms around John and pulled him in tighter to his chest, kissing the top of his head. 

"Sh-Sherlock..." John stammered, finally waking up. He realized his friend was here and cried into his bony chest, staining his cotton t-shirt with tears. Sherlock could almost feel his heart breaking.

"Shhhh... John it's alright. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm never leaving you ever again." Sherlock whispered into John's hair. John clutched onto him, digging his fingernails into Sherlock's skin and clutching the fabrics of his t-shirt. 

"Sherlock, I never thought you were fake. I knew I couldn't love someone who would do something like that. I love you more than anything else in this entire world. I love your deductions, and your coat and scarf, and the way that you act when your bored. I love the look in your eye that you get when you see a dead body, and even your bloody experiments in the fridge or on the table! I never thought a person as extraordinary and fascinating and brilliant and fantastic as you would love someone as normal and ordinary as me." John said, still bawling his eyes out.

"Oh John," said Sherlock, with the most emotion he would have ever thought possible for him, "I love you more than anything else in this entire world. I love your little jumpers that make you look comfortable and cuddly. I love that you make me tea every morning and know exactly how I like it, and that if I was ever to touch your jam you might shoot me. I love the look in your eye when you see someone who is crying, and that you rush over to them and immediately make them feel better. I love that you are the only person who doesn't turn away my deductions, but thinks they are fascinating. You may be ordinary John, but you always seem to surprise me. I can never predict your actions like I can with other people. I don't see how anyone couldn't love you John. I just never thought out of all those people who love you - me, who everybody hates because I'm different. But not you, no, you love me. I just don't understand." He had been waiting so long to get those words out.

"I never thought for a single second you were dead. I believed. I knew Moriarty was real." John said with absolute certainty, "I believe in you Sherlock Holmes. I always have, and I always will."

And that in itself was enough to make Sherlock break down and bawl buckets and buckets of tears.  
~~~  
John knew telling Lestrade was going to be the hardest part. He wasn't sure how he was going to take it. He knew he felt super guilty about getting Sherlock arrested in the first place, and he was not sure how he was going to take Sherlock being back. But he also didn't know how he was going to take them as a couple. Last night had been the best night of John's life, but he didn't think he was ready to open up to everyone and show them all they were right about his sexuality. He also didn't know how Sherlock was going to manage, seeing as Lestrade was a big part of why he had to fake his death. He had always known Sherlock as a person who could keep it together in the worst of times, but everyone has their breaking point - and John was scared this was Sherlock's.

Sherlock thought he was going to explode with anger. Lestrade had known that Anderson and Sally were idiots! How did he think he could trust them with something like this? He knew that it wasn't Lestrade's fault, he was only doing his job, and Moriarty had set them all up. But he still felt a large amount of anger and even hatred to one of the three people he had saved.

Lestrade was simply sitting at his desk sipping coffee when John came in. He had to say, he was quite surprised. John never left the house except for emergencies, and he hadn't talked to Lestrade in ages. He assumed it was because if the large part he played in killing Sherlock. Killing Sherlock... It sounded awful. His conscious had taken such a large toll, he felt as if he was the one who had pushed him off that roof top. The guilt he felt building up in his chest after eight months was so difficult to deal with that, even with the copious amount of therapy he had undertaken, he had not been to a murder case since. It just wouldn't be the same without him doing his bloody deductions and tampering with the evidence... He wished he had the chance to say everything he had wanted to say to him. He wanted to say that he was lost without him. That he wasn't even a good cop, he just had a connection with the best of the best. But most of all, he wanted to tell Sherlock that, even though he might disagree, he considered them friends. He wished he had said this, and now it was too late.

"Hello Lestrade!" John said cheerfully, but everyone could sense the tension is his voice.

"John! It's been ages! How are you!"

"Better than ever Lestrade."

"You look great! Happy even! What's going on? You never leave the house..."

"I have someone I'd like you to see..."

Lestrade had assumed that John had gotten a new girlfriend and just moved on. Nothing could have prepared him for who stepped through the door.

"Lestrade." Sherlock said with a nod, his face cold as stone.

Lestrade broke down. Crying and crying he fell to the floor and gripped Sherlock's pant leg, begging for forgiveness. John saw it all happen. He had seen the surprise in Lestrade's eyes, and then the pain. The guilt. He had seen the tears well up in his eyes, and him blessing The Lord that Sherlock was back. He had seen how much he had missed Sherlock in his eyes, and how much he needed him. But it was not Lestrade he was looking at for most of this time. When Sherlock walked in the room, he whole aura said angry. It didn’t take a consulting detective to know that. His tone of voice and his harsh eyes had sent shivers down his spine. But as soon as Lestrade had shown how much he missed him, he saw it all melt away. He saw the compassion in his eyes as he lifted Lestrade off of the ground and up onto his feet. He saw the genuine grin on his face as Lestrade hugged him as hard as he could. And what John noticed most of all was how his eyes changed. He had seen the cold hard stone furious eyes melt away to reveal another emotion. Forgiveness. Sherlock had forgiven Lestrade, and was now hugging him. It would have been the most beautiful thing John had ever seen if he wasn’t so insanely jealous of Lestrade hugging Sherlock so tightly. And then, as she always does, Molly came in and ruined the moment.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?" Molly stammered, but then she realized who indeed Lestrade was hugging. 

"Sherlock? You weren't supposed to be back for weeks! Months even! You said you weren't coming back until Moriarty's crime web had been destroyed!"

The look on Sherlock's face told Molly the whole story, but he continued to tell her anyways.

"I decided that I needed to come home. Eight months was too long to stay away from Jo-" he quickly corrected himself, "London and I needed to come back. I went into auto-pilot. I-I killed everyone, who didn't go into custody. I feel awful, but now that I know that we are safe from Moriarty's people. I-I've killed them all. It was necessary." His face was as hard as the cold stone walls that surrounded Lestrade's office.

"Oh. Uh, I see. Um, well then. I'll just be on my way them..." Molly stammered once more.

"Wait Molly!" Yelled John. "There's something I need to tell everyone..."

"John I thought we weren't going to tell them just yet..." Sherlock said quietly. He wanted everyone to know, but he knew this was a hard river for John to cross. He knew John was brave (braver then anyone he knew) but right at this moment, he had the most respect for him then he had ever had in his entire life. He loved him more then ever.

"Sherlock, I'm ready. Are you?"

"Forever and always." Whispered Sherlock.

"Okay, so.... Hi. Um, so Sherlock's back. Uh, he came to my flat last night, and um... Well I, uh, guess what I'm trying to say is that, uh, Jesus this is hard, uh, we're kind of a couple."

"Kind of? We snogged all of last night!" 

"SHERLOCK"

"Well it took you two damn long enough!" Lestrade said with a large grin. 

"I'll say!" Said Molly with a laugh, "I think the only ones who didn't know you two loved each other was, well, you two!"

After that, they all laughed and had a couple of drinks until Lestrade couldn't see straight and Molly had to drive him home. It took John and Sherlock only a couple seconds to realize that they didn't have enough money for a cab home, so they started to walk, holding hands. Sherlock had his warm coat, but John only had his oatmeal jumper to block out the cold.

"John are you cold?" Asked Sherlock, worried.

"No I'm fine, really." John said with a laugh, but the shiver that came right after didn't really help his case.

"Here, take my coat." Sherlock said plainly, handing over his warm, wooly coat over to John and wrapping it around his shoulders. John was shocked, seeing as Sherlock only had a simple satin shirt underneath. Plus, it was Sherlock's coat. That wonderful coat with the collar that just refused to stay down. That coat that flew behind the man he loved as he went to catch a criminal. It was Sherlock's coat.

"But Sherlock..." John was still in shock by what just happened, and was not very willing to give up the coat.

"No I insist." Said sherlock with a grin, "that's what boyfriends do don't they? Give their partners their coats?"

"But Sherlock you'll freeze!"

"Nonsense, John. I'll be fine. I've been in colder with less." 

"Here at least take my jumper, I don't need both these two layers, your coat is warm enough"

Sherlock was taken aback. John never let sherlock touch his jumpers since he tried to perform various experiments on them, much less wear them. He was so protective of his jumpers, and here he was just handing one over to Sherlock. He took it without a second thought and slipped it on over his head. Sure, the sleeves were much too short and the wool stretched tightly across his chest, but it was John's jumper. It felt like home.

And together they walked, wearing each others clothing, off to 221B as they watched the sun set into the clouds.


End file.
